


Ain't No Sunshine

by uglywombat



Category: Snowpiercer (2013)
Genre: Angst, Dub con elements, F/M, Mentions of dubious consent, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Sexual Tension, Sleazy Wilford, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:01:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25323556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uglywombat/pseuds/uglywombat
Summary: You call the beautiful, lush green gardens of Snowpiercer your home. And yet your heart belongs in the abyss with a man hellbent on surviving this terrible new ice age.
Relationships: Curtis Everett/Original Female Character(s), Curtis Everett/Reader, Wilford/Reader, curtis everett/you
Comments: 14
Kudos: 59





	Ain't No Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the kick up the butt snowqueen and the push to finally take on Curtis.

“You’re late.”

The stern, composed voice echoes through the car, as you step through, your arms weighed down with the basket. Your senses are immediately overwhelmed by the familiar stench that you have slowly learned to ignore; a mix of body odor, shame, and poor sanitation. 

“Yeah well, tough tits,” you snap, haphazardly dropping the heavy load onto the ground before you and blowing an errant strand of hair from your sweaty forehead. The journey to the end car has been long and arduous, the basket overloaded with what supplies you could find.

“Tough tits?” Your heart skips a beat as the tall, imposing figure steps out of the shadows and into the cool, blue light of the cart. “You’re three days late, bien nantis.” 

The nickname crawls on your skin and you bite back down the smart-arse retort you know will land you further in the cavernous hot water. You were far from well off, Curtis will never understand what you go through to help the tail section. What you sacrifice to bring them supplies. But, it is the only name the leader has for you, your real name a mystery for your own safety. 

“Couldn’t be helped I’m afraid,” you reply snarkily as he drops before you, crystal blue eyes locking on yours before he goes rifling through the prized goods, throwing the old blankets hiding the goods behind him. “I got…” the words are sucked from your mouth as he abruptly stands tall.    
  
“Edgar,” he calls out, pinning you to the spot with his ice-cold gaze, a small smirk forming in the corner of his mouth as he sees your breath hitch, “start handing out the supplies.”

There’s a sparkle in Edgar’s eyes that is seldom seen on this traveling time bomb, a cheeky grin as he skips towards you both and takes the heavy basket of what you could grab before Wilford’s guards had cornered you in the lush greenhouse you call home. The covered marks on your wrists still ache from the ordeal.

“Where the hell have you been?” Curtis demands forcefully, his hand gripping your forearm, just missing a particularly unforgiving bruise and hauls you away from the door. 

Whilst the guards are easy enough to bribe your way through the cars, one by one carrying the heavy basket of stolen goods under the guise of collecting old blankets for the garden, you know you are being watched. Their loyalty, the men the key bearers to each door to each individual car, lies solely with the cruel director of the train. The man who sends a cool shiver down your spine every time he calls for you. 

Curtis forces you through the floor-to-ceiling bunkbeds, the stench only increasing the further into the back you are pulled. Nobody bats an eyelid and you don’t put up a fight. He is all brute and no apologies; his loyalty lies firmly with his car family and you are nothing more than the stupid woman who risks her life to bring them stolen bare necessities.

Curtis stops at the bunk you know as his, the small, hard-as-rocks little home he calls his own where he has made you come undone many times. There’s no privacy in the end car, this is squalor and filth, where everyone knows each other’s business. Where everyone plays audience to the filthy goings-on around them. 

His hand grips your chin as he draws his eyes over your face, examining you as though you are a battered old car in need of repair. Before all of this, the new ice age, you imagine Curtis was a car mechanic. His hands are rough and worn, calluses that scratch you in the most delicious way.

You gasp as he all but tears the thick coat from your frame and heated eyes drag over your body. When this all started, when you first stumbled upon the end car by mistake, you were embarrassed when he would undress you in the busy corridor of beds, voices filling the void as he fucked you brutally against the rockhard mattress. Now, it is the norm.

“Where were you?” His voice is rough like sandpaper and for the first time, you can smell his heady scent. Somewhat clean from the bars of soap you had managed to sneak in last month and the bitter aroma of the protein bars they are forced to eat. 

You take a shaky breath, the thick wall of bravado cracking under the heat of his gaze. “Wilford suspects something.” The click of his jaw sends a shiver up your spine. “He had me brought to his chambers three nights ago, I…” The gasconade of confidence crumbles as his hands tear your dress at your chest, exposing your thin lace bra. His eyes widen at the myriad of bruises; some small, some large. The varying shades of bruising are somewhat beautiful and you would love them had they not been at the hands of Wilford.

“He did this to you?” Curtis’ growl is animalistic, his grip on your arm only tightening as the dress pools at your feet, only showing the darkened art. “I’m going to kill him.” 

You scoff and yank your arm away from his severe yet grounding iron-like grasp. His whole aura is so all-consuming, so greedy and demanding you find yourself wanting to drop your guard and surrender. “Yeah, and how are you going to do that, Curtis? You can’t get out of here and he doesn’t come down this end. I just…” You cover your breasts as someone respectfully walks around the bulking man, refusing to look over your semi-naked body. 

“He has no right to touch what isn’t his,” Curtis rumbles darkly, his arms caging you into the frame of the bed, ignoring the two men pretending to sleep on the lower and middle levels. 

“Oh right,” you say, defiantly raising your eyebrows and poking him in his stupid hard chest, “because I’m yours? Newsflash Curtis, I don’t belong to you. I’m risking everything to help you and your people…”

“Why? Why are you risking so much to help us?”

It’s the extinct elephant in the room, an answer to a question the burly leader has asked time and time again, an explanation you have skated around with a distraction in his pants and hot mouth. 

You can’t bear to tell him the truth, that your heart has slowly opened to him over the years, it’s a burden and would only lead to trouble. So you lie. “Why do you care so much to know? Can’t you just be grateful you’re getting essentials, Curtis? I don’t want anything in return, I just need you to…” the words are sucked from your lungs as he presses his lips to yours. 

“And we are so grateful,” he hums, the vibration echoing through the dark corridor. “I will make him pay for putting his hands on you. I can’t stand the thought of him…” 

You silence him with a hungry kiss, the vast need for his touch all too much. His taste is bitter, the vague flavor of mint lingering from the toothpaste you had snuck in. You step out of the heavy, soil-covered boots, eater to feel him. The kiss, all teeth and tongue, awakens the desirous hunger in Curtis’ gut and he’s on you. Pinning your hands above your head, your skin biting against the ice-cold bed frame, he is quick to tear your tights and panties off, pocketing the cotton reward in his thick woolen coat. 

Before you can kindly request you move this to the privacy of the semi-curtained bed, Curtis is dropping to his knees and throwing your leg over his shoulder. You’re forced to bite onto your hand to muffle the lewd moans as the long tongue works its way between your folds. His gaze is locked on yours as he feasts on your aching core, fingers tightening on your hips. 

Curtis is, well, he’s magic. You’re not sure how many women in the tail end he’s fucked over the years, but you don’t care, he has a gift. Concentrating on the little bundle, you’re soon cascading over the precipice, fingers coiling onto the woven beanie as you bite back the high-pitched cries. Your whole body shakes, raging waves of heat coursing through your veins despite the bitterly frigid air. 

The orgasm is fierce, literally shredding the weight from your shoulders as you come down from your high. Only the brooding leader of the tail end can have you coming in a matter of minutes. You think of him often, your fingers delving between the cusp of your thighs, bringing yourself relief after a day of hard labour. Curtis is at the forefront of your mind when Wilford has you pulled from the safety of your green garden and plays his power-hungry games with you. 

It’s all a blur, your equilibrium is completely thrown off guard as Curtis suddenly looms over you, his lips greedily claiming yours. In the blur of his wild vortex, it’s easy to forget you are literally stuck to a bed in the middle of a sardine tin of people. 

He spins your around, pinning your hands to the frame of the bed, and is unzipping his pants before you can draw breath. The sound of the wheels running along the track disappears as he seats his thick hard cock in your channel, the resounding feeling of calm washing over you. 

Before he moves, which you so desperately need, he is gripping your face and pulling you towards him. A heady kiss that sends your stomach and heart simultaneously plummeting to the ground is enough to break the final wall, a flood of emotions pouring through. 

And then he moves. Your walls flutter as he drags along your tight channel, a large hand shifting around to encompass your neck. His lips, always so greedy and destitute in your coupling, do not leave yours as he fucks you slowly. 

“Missed this,” he snarls deeply against your mouth, his tongue lathing your pouty lips. “Missed you.” 

The confession eats at you as he picks up speed, a finger descending to the delicate and sensitive nub between your legs. The hand from your neck quickly covers your mouth, quietening the ribald moan as your eyelashes battered furiously. You have to grip the bed frame for dear life, the metal clanking against the wall despite the two bodies weighing it down. 

“I love you,” Curtis whispers, your eyes locked furiously on one another. “Fuck, I shouldn’t but I can’t help myself.”

Tears prick at your eyes as you barrel towards your second orgasm and you eagerly seek out his lips with your own, desperate to feel that overwhelming and comforting connection. He’s the only man in this entire world who has made you feel like this; free, safe, and wanted. 

The bed shakes as you come, your unruly cries muffled by the swollen lips and tongue of your lover. The shake of your body will be felt for days, the tight grip of your hands on the hard steel frame will make your hands ache every time you bury them deep in the organic soil.

Curtis spills deep inside you with a guttural groan, his grip tightening over your mouth as your walls desperately clench tight around his cock. His seed is warm and comforting, his cock pulsating deep inside you as you languidly kiss against the bedframe. 

When all is said and done, the weight of your emotions heavy and burdensome, you dress in awkward silence. How could you be so stupid? You’d never belong to Curtis. Not wholly. Not with Wilbur lurking in the shadows. 

“I don’t want him touching you.” His voice is strained and drowning in cloaked emotions. “You’re not his.”

“I don’t have a choice, Curtis.” You turn around to face him, the mask brittle under your forced courage. “You don’t know what it’s like up there. If I… If I don’t give him what he wants I can’t help you. Do you understand? It’s just sex. It’s not like…”

His hand grips your hair and he pulls you flush against him, his scent overwhelming your senses. “You belong to me. Your heart is mine, okay?”    
  


Looking up, your walls crack seeing the little flurry of tears breaching the surface of those crystalline orbs and you’re quick to thumb them away. “My heart is yours, Curtis. Always.”

It takes all your strength to pull yourself away from him and make your way to the front of the car, to start the long journey back to the green garden you call home. The guilt is all-encompassing, taking last breaths in the thick sickly air before returning to the fresh, clean air of the garden. 

The memory of his touch is still heavy on your skin as you feel his warmth behind you as you knock on the door. “Don’t look back,” he whispers as the door creaks open.

“I love you,” you just accomplish in a breathy gasp before forcing yourself into the next car, unable to bring yourself to look him in the eye lest you say ‘fuck it’ and stay in the end tail forever. 

The sea of tears and guilt is slowly buried deep in the depths of your gut as you make your way to the garden. Curtis’ scent is still cumbersome on your skin and you are loathed to wash it away. His seed trickles and sticks to the skin of your inner thighs. 

There is a strange shift in the air of the garden as you enter and your guard is immediately drawn as you make your way through the maze of tomato vines. In your private quarters, you gather clean clothes and supplies to wash before making your way to the washroom. 

You’re numb, watching the soap disappear down the drain as his touch and scent abandon under the suds. Choking back a sob, you scrub and atone with the citrus scent, your skin soft and cleaned of your short time with him. The uncomfortable feeling has not dissipated and time is ticking away. You will have to be up in a few short hours to start your day in the garden, so you are quick to lather your body with moisturizer and scrub your teeth clean, before exiting the small shower cubicle to change. 

You stop dead in your tracks, a gasp falling from your lips. Leaning against the shower cubicle before you, Wilford drags ice blue eyes over your barely covered body, a smirk on his lips. 

“Thank you for washing him off of your body for me. It’s the least you could do.” He steps forward and you immediately move to run, only to be pressed against the door to the shower. His breath is a stench of meat and alcohol. “Now, now,” he hums, his thumb caressing the fat tears from your cheeks, “all can be forgiven. Curtis has an important role to play in the future of this new world and you will have a part to play in that. But for now, why don’t you be a good little girl and show me how sorry you are.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always welcome! 
> 
> I'm also on Tumblr @imanuglywombat ♥️


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